Never Let Go
by BubleCrazy
Summary: Rose is trying to live a normal life with her daughter, Lily. However, she doesn't know Jack is alive. Will they ever meet together again, or still believe the other is dead? Chapter 7 is UP!
1. Living Surviving

**A/N: I own Titanic, I just thought you should know. Everybody says that they don't, but I do. Oh, are we talking about the film rights. I own the DVD...**

_The stars... all Rose could see ahead of her were stars. Specks of silver paint on a black canvas, the only source of light on the black ocean. Clear as glass, even through the icicles that had formed on her delicate eyelashes. Perhaps it was the cold, numbing her mind, but the flicker of a pulse in Jack's wrist seemed to be weakening. But he couldn't be dying. Even the freezing cold depths of the Atlantic Ocean couldn't take Jack Dawson. After everything the two of them had been through tonight, surely this couldn't be it. He was strong, invincible. She turned over, wincing as she painfully moved her frozen joints. The distant sound of oars sliding through water echoed through the silent night sky. A single call managed to penetrate Rose's hearing, as she realised that a boat was coming to save her. Ecstatically, she faced Jack. As her joints ached from the cold and her neck moved slowly from the ice, she turned as quickly as she could. But, she didn't like what she saw._

_His face was blue; the blue of ice and cold. It was unhealthy and inhuman; surely no-one could live with skin so cold, a face so lifeless. But Jack had to be alive... Rose pleaded to God that, before tonight, she had been sure had existed. But surely God couldn't be so cruel; a God so omnipotent and benevolent. She shook Jack gently at first, urging him with all the might she could muster._

_"Jack... Jack, there's a boat... Jack..." _

_Worry etched itself onto Rose's face, and slowly turned into fear. He wasn't responding. His head moved lifelessly as his body floated in the water, clinging to the side of the door. Rose breathed in, painfully. This wasn't happening. Jack couldn't be dead... he'd been alive barely minutes ago. He'd been the one willing her to live... make lots of babies... how could he go back on his promise like that? Rose felt the tears flow, uncontrollable waterfalls, and turn to ice. The pain was unendurable... how was she going to survive on her own. A life with Cal and her mother was out of the question; how could she provide for herself? She had to find a way, to make sure Jack's death wasn't in vain. As she broke his rigid arm from hers, she let go, kissing his lifeless hand as it disappeared into the dark._

"_I'll never let go, Jack... I promise..." _

_The boat was leaving! She had to get on to the boat or die like Jack, like hundreds of other people in the black, icy wreck. Guiding her way through the cold waters, Rose remembered the whistle another victim had been desperately blowing earlier. Now, around his clammy, bleak neck, the whistle shimmered from the moonlight. She clasped and pulled and blew, with all the air in her lungs, for Jack, Fabrizio, Mr. Andrews, Cora, Tommy and everyone else who perished merely an hour or two ago. As the boat gently swerved through bodies of men, women and children towards her, Rose had never been more grateful for the torchlight blaring in her face. Lying on board of the small rescue boat as the crew looked over for more survivors, swathed in blankets and frosty breath escaping her lips, she gave into the painless, tantalising oblivion as she lost conciousness. _

A single high pitch scream soared through the air. Rose woke with an abrupt start, and almost jumped, sitting up in her bed and adjusting her vision to the dark room. Continually, she had been living that scene over and over again in her head. The moment when she'd nearly died, the moment when Jack had...

It had been nearly a year after the accident. The 2nd of April 1993, to be exact. Survivors were still mourning for those they loved and women were trying to raise children who had no fathers. It was tough, there was no doubt about it. Mothers had lost children, wives had lost husbands, children had lost parents... it was time like this, at 3:00am, when Rose thought back to her mother and Cal. Living in a huge house while she struggled in a two bedroomed apartment in Santa Monica, where Jack had promised they'd go one day. The thought of that necklace came into her mind... it would be worth so much. A guaranteed, comfortable existence with no worries about money or where the next meal was coming from. It was simply lying there, without doing anybody any good...

Rose put the thought out of her mind... she'd woken up for some reason and her sleepy haze had made her forget about it. After a moment of thought, she slung her legs from the snug bed and placed her feet on the freezing floor. Rose walked through to the other room, yawning. In the corner of the small, cramped yet cosy room, a second-hand, worn wooden cradle stood.

Inside, a small fair-haired child of two months lay defiant, tears in her eyes as she craved attention. Her eyes lit up and she gurgled as she saw her mother, and kicked her small, infantile legs fiercely. Rose smiled to herself. Baby Lillian Jacqueline Dawson was perfect in every way; golden hair and cornflower blue eyes like her father, but with the fierce temperament of her mother. Her eyes concentrated on Rose's in the darkness; Rose found it hard to believe that she was only two months old. But, then again, Jack was always like that. It was something she'd inherited from her father; both were beyond than their years, knew more than they should.

Rose lifted her daughter from her crib, breathing in the warm milk smell that accompanied the baby. The weight in her arms was comforting and Rose carried the baby through to the bedroom. Lily was asleep again within seconds, which made Rose laugh. She was crying for attention... Rose thought of Lily as a famous actress in eighteen years time, with her Daddy smiling down on her, the success that her mother never had. The thought of Jack being proud of his daughter brought a lump to her throat, as she swallowed back tears.

Kissing the top of her daughter's soft golden head, Rose placed her down next to her. The baby snuffled softly in her sleep. Nights in the big city were lonely... as Rose lay down and smiled at her sleeping daughter, she felt the warm companion of sleep fall upon her. And she welcomed it gratefully.

It was a warm Spring morning, as Rose bustled around her small kitchen, making breakfast for one. She was readying herself for an audition at a restaurant; not the sort of job she'd want permanently, but something enjoyable that would pay the bills. Lily was sleeping peacefully in her cradle, dressed in a simple white dress, perfect for the weather. Sitting down to a cup of tea, Rose thought of her day. She'd have to visit Mrs. Carter, the old woman next door, and ask her to watch the baby for an hour or two. Mrs Carter, a widow, was often grateful for the company. She was nice enough, a mother of five kids who'd flown the nest, and often thought of Lily of the grandchild she never had (or never saw). As Rose drained the cup of tea, she went through to the other room, picking up the sleeping yet smiling child. Placing her daughter in a second hand pram that she'd picked up from a friend, she looked over her apartment and exited, locking the door behind her.

The old lady's door was chipped and worn, but her home was pristine and immaculate, as the old woman allowed Rose inside and took a seat in a comfortable armchair by the window.

"Now, young Rose," her Irish accent rang through the empty house, "What can I do for you?"

"Well, Mrs. Carter, I was wondering if you'd mind watching Lily for an hour."

The old woman laughed to herself. "Of course not. It would be a joy to watch the young 'un for a while. She'd no trouble when she's here. Might I ask why?"

Rose smiled. "Thank you. I have an interview for a job in a nice little restaurant in town. It's nothing big, just something to ensure that I'll eat for the next week. It's a nice little place, the sort I'd like t visit one day. I wouldn't bother you, but I really need this job." Mrs Carter looked at the ground, then at Rose pointedly.

"May I ask, dear, what happened to your husband?" She automatically looked away, wondering if she'd gone too far. She fingered a set of rosary beads around her neck.

Again, Rose smiled, though forcefully. This moment was soon to come, and now it had. The lie that she'd prepared all those months ago would finally come to good use.

"My husband was called Jack Dawson, and we lived in Southampton, England for a while. I discovered I was pregnant, and we decided to return to America, as work was scarce. Unfortunately, we both booked places on the _Titanic_," the old woman gasped, "Yes, the _Titanic. _Everything was going perfectly enough. Our third class tickets weren't luxurious, but I didn't expect anything else. All I needed was a bed and two meals a day. It was our ticket to freedom, and as long as I had Jack, I couldn't care how I lived. But, the illusion was shattered. We were some of the last told that the ship was about to sink, and I managed to get a place on a lifeboat. One of the last, it was extremely cramped, but Jack wasn't allowed on. I didn't want the damn place,; I was prepared to die with him. But, he urged me to think of myself, think of the baby I was carrying. It was the hardest decision of my life, but I agreed. I'm glad I did now. But, as I sailed away from the scene, torn and in pain from my loss, my Jack perished with the 1,500 others. I lost a husband, and my baby lost a father."

Mrs. Carter looked away. "The Lord was in a crisis when he decided to sink that ship." She crossed herself. "I truly feel sorry for your loss." The old and young women sat in silence for a minute, as Mrs. Carter abruptly lifted herself from her chair. "Now, dear. I'm being incredibly evasive and rude. Would you like a cup of tea before you leave? " Rose stood quickly from the chair.

"No, thank you. I must get off, it's nearly 11:00am. Thank you again for watching Lily for me. I'll be home at 1:00pm at the latest..."

"Don't worry yourself," the old woman got up from her seat to show Rose out. "It'll be a pleasure for me. I don't often see my own grandchildren, the company will do me good. You get yourself going, love. Don't be late now..."

Rose kissed her still sleeping daughter on the forehead, and left through the door, waving goodbye. Mrs. Carter shut the door slowly and quietly. Rose descended the stairs, creeping past the landlords door. The rent hadn't been paid in two weeks, and Rose would be evicted within the week, if she didn't pay. A two month old baby didn't make a difference; Mr Stevenson was a cruel man. He would even sell his own daughter, if the price was right.

The warm air filled her lungs, as she passed the park where she often took Lily on a pleasant day. Children playing freely; boys playing with balls and cars and planes, girls with skipping ropes and dolls. Dogs barking, fathers proudly watching and mothers chatting. Young lovers holding hands in the street and softly whispering on benches. Rose was reminded of Jack. Would they be like this? A young married couple with a baby, Jack fussing over Lily and being the proud father. Rose sighed, and crossed her arms as she walked.

On the pavement, a set of paintings and drawings were for sale. The artist was nowhere to see seen, so Rose stood to admire the work. It was 10:45am, and another fifteen minutes until the man wanted her to arrive. The drawings and paintings were exquisite; they were almost as good as Jack's. A watercolour image of the coast, the city, and the very park Rose had been admiring. Line drawings of women and children and families smiled, laughing and playing. If Rose wasn't in a hurry, she would have found the man and paid him for a painting. Something to cheer up the apartment. But, she carried on walking. This audition was her next meal ticket, money to ensure that both her and Lily would have a roof over their heads for at least another month.

The door to the restaurant beckoned Rose in. The sign '_JOSEPH MANDLESON'S_," was displayed in above the door. The building looked elegant and expensive, the sort of place her mother would visit, or she would, if she'd have married Cal. It certainly wasn't seedy or degrading, as Ruth DeWitt Bukater had often told her only daughter when she was a child. This opportunity would certainly able her to live comfortably, if not make her famous. Famous enough to make everyone proud and those from her previous life envious. Her mother would return for money; she had always wanted Rose to have a successful, well rich, life, whether or not Rose herself was happy. She smiled; the one thing she could do was dream. She pulled herself away, and entered the building.

The room was large, and decorated exquisitely with good taste. There were many small tables for customers to dine upon; tables of a light wood, covered with a linen tablecloth, a flower in a vase and immaculate china. At this moment, an upper class woman was having morning tea with her friend. She reminded Rose of her mother. The wallpaper was floral and of expensive taste, and a lush, beige curtain hid the backstage from the front room. A single, mahogany piano stood majestically off stage. It was all very light and airy. This was a place that was respectable and paid well. Rose looked around and saw a round, jovial man with a red face and an impeccable suit. His face wore a wide smile, as he walked towards Rose, hand outstretched.

"Ms. Rose Dawson?" He asked inquisitively, and she nodded.

"Yes, I am Rose Dawson." Rose returned to her haughty voice which she'd used for the past 17 years. "Extremely pleased to meet you... Mr Mandleson?"

"Yes. I am Joseph Mandleson Jr., owner of this delightful little restaurant you see before you. I inherited it of of my father, which, as you can tell, was decorated so delightfully by my mother, God bless her soul."

"I'm here for the job opening, advertised in the newspaper..."

"Ah, yes. Of course. I always forget that I advertise for extra staff. Please, step into my office over here..." he gestured kindly with his hand, and Rose followed, wringing her hands nervously...

Half an hour later, Rose left the office feeling on top of the world. The interview process and audition to sing regularly at the restaurant has gone splendidly. Mr. Mandleson seemed very genuine and understanding about her condition and her 'husbands' death a year earlier. He had practically guaranteed her the job. She could plan ahead, for trips to the seaside for Lily and her, a chance to fulfil all the promises she had said to Jack in their time together. Times were going to look up for Rose and her daughter... she could feel it..


	2. An Old Face

**Thanks for the people who reviewed this story. Nothing I like more than reviews, so thank you again. I hope to have a chapter with Jack in next, because he's not dead! Well, not in my story. Enjoy!**

Rose lowered herself into the wooden chair with a teacup in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. Her once long, flame red hair was cut short and tied back, but her eyes still held the same fire as all those years ago. She was unrecognisable from the girl who had departed on the _Titanic_ all those years ago. She was pleased to think that had become a stronger woman and even stronger mother to her only child. Of course, undoubtedly, there had been times where she'd missed her own mother. Although Ruth hadn't been the best of mothers, she was the only kin that Rose could recall. And the times when Jack had been dominant on her mind... those had been more painful. Especially as she looked on at their daughter.

Lily sat down next to her mother, so unlike Rose when she was the same age. Instead of the dainty child that girls were supposed to be, Lily Dawson had always received the message that she could grow up however she wanted. Today, she was determined to become a famous artist, but only yesterday she wanted simply wanted to be rich. She also possessed a stubborn streak, and was a born leader. This girl would never, _could never_, be a submissive wife. Rose wouldn't want her any other way. This was the child she'd always wanted, the child that Rose had always wanted to be. No expectations.

Automatically, Lily's small face pouted, and crinkled. She was undoubtedly a beautiful child, with a head of curly, strawberry-blond hair and large, shining blue eyes. Five years had passed since Rose had started work at JOSEPH MANDLESON'S, and it was a second home to Lily. The staff fussed around the little girl who sat and watched her mother sing with such joy. Lily called them all by first names and was often treated with small presents of sweets and paints.

"Mommy," she whined, as Rose sipped from her cup and settled back into her chair. Eleanor was due to arrive any minute, with the possibility of another audition and then she was due to meet Olivia with the boys.

"Mommy, you said that we were going to the park. When are we going? Grace said that she was going to be there at 11am, and I don't want to be late. If I'm late, then Grace won't show me her new dolly."

"I thought you didn't like Grace," said Rose, without even looking up.

"I don't. But she's got a new doll and I want to see it. When can we go?"

Rose looked over her newspaper, "We'll go when I'm ready, Lily. We have to wait for Auntie Olivia. Don't you want to see James and Steven?"

Lily looked down, with a frown on her face. "I wish that I had Grace's Mommy," she softly spoke to herself under her breath; "Grace's Mommy buys her sweeties and dolls whenever she wants..." she picked up a glass of milk, and drank from the glass. She twiddled the hair on her doll, Jessica, between her fingers. Lily had had the doll since she was a baby; apparently it was the first thing her Mommy had bought her when she received the job.

"Mommy..." Rose breathed heavily. Sometimes her daughter's curiosity was exasperating.

"Yes..."

"Mommy, will you tell me about my Daddy?" Rose looked over again, and sighed.

Lily was concentrated on her doll. "I mean, Grace has a Daddy and Lucy has a Daddy and they always ask me what happened to mine." She sat up straighter, and placed her hands on the table. "Did he die, Mommy?"

Slowly and carefully, Rose folded her newspaper and placed it onto the empty chair beside her. She steadied a shaking hand as she brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. This moment was always going to arise. But Rose didn't think it would be so soon; Lily was only 5 years old, still a baby. _Her _baby.

"Lily, come over here." Lily ran excitedly over, with her doll in hand, and bounced on her mothers lap, always full of energy and life. She'd wanted to know about her Daddy for a long time, but whenever she saw a sad look on her Mommy's face, Lily knew she was thinking of him. Not wanting to make her cry, Lily kept silent. She hated it when

"Was he a nice man, Mommy? Or was he nasty? Is that why I don't see him any more?" Rose smiled; Lily was a very intelligent child. Talented. Beautiful with brains.

"No, no, no, Lily. Your father was the most amazing man I've ever met." Rose smiled at the memory. "I met him on the _Titanic_..."

As Rose finished her tale, Lily looked puzzled. Her Daddy had died on a ship in the sea with her Nana and many other men, ladies and children. Lily had heard of the _Titanic_; lots of her friends at school had lost friends and family on the _Titanic_. A little girl called Jenny lived with her Nana because she had lost her Mommy and her Daddy and her big brother Joe. Even 'Perfect Girl Grace' had lost an auntie or something like that. Lily looked up at her mother.

"So my Daddy was a good man?" Rose nodded, and Lily smiled.

"Oh, good." Lily got down off of her mother's lap, and sat in her own seat. "It's just that, Grace said my Daddy must have been bad, because he's dead. She said that people who die when they're young have been really naughty... I knew she was lying." Lily sipped from her glass, and started playing with her doll again. Rose looked at her daughter, and smiled.

"Sweetheart, don't let anyone ever tell you any different. Your Daddy was a special man; so special, that the angels and Jesus had to call him back up to heaven. Rose settled down again, checking her watch. Eleanor was due to arrive any minute.

"Rose..." The voice was shaky, and sounded vaguely familiar. Rose turned slowly. With so many skeletons in her closet, she wasn't sure whether the face would be a friend or foe.

"Rose," she turned, and looked into the eyes of the one face she didn't want to see. Before her stood a woman with red hair similar to her own. Her face was older; more lined that when Rose had last seen. Her clothes looked worn, but could have once been beautiful, grand and elegant. She still had a sense of pride, though; her clothes were clean, and a new hat was perched on her hair. Rose was shocked.

"Mother..." the colour drained from her face.

"Rose, is it really you?" Ruth let her eyes roam over her only daughter. She'd changed so much, matured, since Ruth had last seen her. Her once long hair had been cut short, and framed her porcelain white, thin face. It actually suited her. Her eyes looked more adult, having seen more horrors than before. Ruth had never been more overjoyed to see her...

"Mother, how did you find me?" Rose fired back. It wasn't the welcome Ruth had wanted, but she had expected nothing less. She stood humbly, wringing her hands slowly. "I'm not moving back into that life, Mother... Nothing you can say will make me leave my life"

"No, no, no," Ruth interjected, "I'm not here to persuade you to leave with me. Ever since I found out from Molly Brown that you were alive, I've been desperate to see you. I've been struggling to live, and that glimpse of hope that I might see you, that kept me going. As soon as the Carpathia docked, Caledon left me there. I didn't expect him to keep me... I wasn't his fiancée. I was a constant reminder of you, and he really was devastated when you 'died'. Or rather, when he didn't get his own way. I started work. At first, the idea seemed ludicrous to me, but I accepted it. I had no other alternative. Work or die, and I then saw which was more favourable. My pompous attitude lost me many jobs. I ended up in a small factory, sewing. However, the pay was dreadful; I would be better not working. I left, and Molly Brown took me in. Even after the way I'd treated her, she welcomed me with open arms."

"Is that where you're living now?" Rose asked. She'd no idea that her mother had been living this way. If she'd have known...

Ruth nodded. She'd taken a seat at the table, smiling at the small, fair-haired child in the seat next to her, who already had an intense curiosity on her face. Ruth automatically assumed that Lily was the daughter of a friend. Molly hadn't mentioned any husband. "Molly has treated me like a true friend, like a human being. I'd always feared poverty, it was my phobia, I suppose. And then I was confronted with it, and Molly was the person who helped me through it.

"We were sat down one evening, talking. I loved our talks; she still lived in that world, in the world of grandeur, titles and money. But it uninterested me. I never thought I'd see the day that the goings on of the wealthy would make me yawn." Rose laughed. She'd not felt this at ease with her mother since, well, _ever_. "Molly told me that you were alive, living here in Santa Monica." Ruth reached across, and grabbed her daughter's hand.

"If you want me to go, I will. But, I just wanted to see you. Just to be sure that Molly wasn't lying. I knew that she wasn't, but that small doubt nagged at me."

"Of course you can live with me, Mother," Rose laughed. "That is if you care to leave the company of Molly Brown. I'm sure her way of living is much superior to mine."

Ruth smiled. Rose had never seen her mother smile in such a way, and it really made her brighten. This wasn't the mother she remembered.

"But Mother, there's someone that I'd like you to meet," Rose beckoned the girl over, and Lily slowly sidled up to her mother's side, wary. Jessica was clutched firmly to her chest. This lady looked like her Mommy, but she was much older, and scarier.

"Mother," Rose placed an arm around her daughter's waist, "this is my daughter, Lillian." Ruth looked astounded. Molly had never mentioned a child. Then it dawned on her. This was her granddaughter.

"Rose, you're a mother." Ruth embraced her daughter, uncaring of the hawk eyes of the public. That didn't matter any more.

"She's beautiful; she has your face structure and the same expression, Rose. How old is she?"

"Five years old, Mother. She's just started school, and is the most intelligent child you could ever wish to meet. She also has a magnificent flair for art, don't you?" Lily nodded, and smiled at the lady. She was nearly crying, but Lily knew that she wasn't upset.

"Lily, this lady is _my_ Mommy. Your Nana," Lily looked confused.

"But I thought you said that I didn't have a Nana. That my Daddy and my Nana died on the big ship in the ocean, with all those other men and ladies and children. We were just talking about it..." she looked from her mother and to this new lady, who was her Nana.

"Listen, darling." Ruth spoke softly, and the little girl nodded. "I nearly died. Your mother thought that I had. I thought that your mother had. But, when I knew that she was alive, I had to see her. I'm glad that I did..." The child wrapped her small arms around Ruth's neck, and she breathed in the sweet soapy scent of her hair. This was Ruth's granddaughter, the granddaughter she'd never expected to have. From the daughter she thought was dead. Things certainly had begun to look up.

"But, her father died on the _Titanic_. Surely she cannot be..." Rose nodded.

"She's Jack daughter, Mother." Rose bluntly said, attempting to clear the truth with her mother. "The only thing in the world to remember Jack Dawson by." Rose looked down, and Ruth knew that Jack had meant more to her daughter than she had anticipated. This strong woman could never have lived a happy life with Caledon. Ruth knew that he had married, to a woman with the same red hair and porcelain looks as her daughter. A replacement, which had hurt Ruth immensely. Her daughter couldn't be replaced so easily.

"I know you didn't approve of our relationship. Having attempted to survive in this world with no money and a newborn baby, I understand why you tried to protect me. Secure my future. But, I'm so glad that I disobeyed you, Mother. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have had two of the best days of my life, or the daughter that I adore."

Ruth shook her head.

"At the time, money controlled my every thought. I needed to know that I had a fund to rely on, to live. Caledon was my access pass to immediate wealth, and that protruded my vision. However, I can see how happy you are, how happy Lily is, and I know that immense wealth didn't play a part in that. Money doesn't matter to me now, and I know that I feel much better as a pauper than I did before. Please, forgive me."

Lily didn't know what they were talking about; she was still shocked that this woman was her grandmother. If this lady was dead and then came back to life, then maybe her Daddy would come back. As she looked on as her mother and Nana began reminiscing about the past, Lily knew that she wasn't going to the park today. But, her Mommy was smiling and happy for the first time in ages, and that made her smile...

**Enjoyed? If so, review! Thanks a lot!**


	3. I'm Surviving Too

_**HIYA GUYS!! Long time, no update, I know. But, I have it in me to finish what I started, so I'm back for good.**_

_**DISCLAIMER: I wish, I wish that I owned the Titanic story, but I don't... all I own is Lily, Stephanie, Anthony and George (not to mention countless other characters who don't even exist yet) and that's nothing to be proud of... :)**_

_An icy prison of black water. That was the closest way to describe this torture. Nothing else could possibly describe the feeling of breathlessness and icicles gathering swiftly on his eyelashes, and numbness and heaviness of limbs as they burned, the sting of opened eyes as you looked upon the faces of the dead. Lifeless eyes staring back, wrapped up pathetically in lifejackets that no longer protected the living. Mothers holding children close, even in death. This was truly hell, yet no hell anyone had ever envisaged before. Ice instead of fire, heavy water instead of flames. _

**Except** Jack, who awoke from his restless sleep in a frenzy. It had been nearly 6 years since that fateful night. The night where he had gained everything and then lost it again. It still brought along a night of terror, her terrified face as he promised her salvation. And then, he'd let her down. She'd died and he'd been rescued. He could remember waking up in that dingy little boat, wrapped up warm in a shawl. Well, as warm as possible in that environment. The feel of the sun felt pleasant, if not heavenly on his blue-tinged face, the ice forming on his hair. A quick glance around determined that not many people had made it. A few people were curled up, some silent and still, others mumbling in sleep and one man who seemed to be fitting from the cold. A small child was crying for a mother that wasn't there, may never be there again. A woman was trying to comfort him, but he knew. He knew that the world had gotten a whole lot worse for him. In his exhaustion, Jack fell asleep once more.

It was his shame that made him not register with the other survivors. Once on the _Carpathia_, men with clipboards seemed to be coming around. Everyone had to sign, so that loved ones could check up. He couldn't face the finality that he's survived and she hadn't. Heck, who'd want to look for him anyway? The one person who he'd loved and who loved him back had died that night. Signing that list would just make it even more real. He'd hidden away in a small alcove until the ship had docked, weak from exhaustion and recovering as well as he could, and then limped off quickly. There was nobody to wait for. The people who he'd grown to care for had all perished. The one person who meant more to him than all the others combined had been snatched away from him, a cruel twist of fate. They'd know each other for a few days, and it was over. Like a click of his fingers.

Jack knew that if he reminisced like this, he'd end up staying in bed all day. Not to mention that he was to meet Stephanie at her home in a few hours, to plan the invites to the wedding. She never liked when he was late, when there was something as important as a wedding to consider. Especially something as important as _her_ wedding. No, not even the groom would ruin this. _Would she even notice if I didn't turn up_, Jack smirked away to himself, _seeing as the day will revolve completely around her and her only?_ It wasn't like he had any people to invite. Well, except old Molly Brown. She was the only person he'd kept contact with. He thought of inviting Ruth, just to show her how well he'd done for himself when she'd failed. But, with Ruth's face, her eyes, looking so much like her daughter's, the memories would come flooding back. He'd see _her _eyes again. And he didn't think he had the strength to go through with the wedding after seeing her eyes again. Jack sat up abruptly, trying to remove her haunting, white face away from his memory, floating on the door. This is beginning to become quite a morning ritual, he thought. Shaking his head and breathing deeply, he stood swiftly and moved to the wardrobe. Such a large wardrobe, too.

How it had differed... Jack could remember the days when he'd wore only the one outfit. His father had always taught him to be practical; what was the point of owning more clothes than you could carry when you lived like they did? Well, he didn't live like that anymore. And, mainly, it was Stephanie's influence. She'd always said that a man should have choice when dressing, look his absolute best. Image meant everything to her, and she wanted to be with a man who knew how to look good. These days, Jack did all he could to please her. Heck, he was willing to change himself to please her. Not because he was wildly in love with her. But because every day he spent with her enabled Jack to forget, and that was something that he craved. He craved the ignorance that spending time with Stephanie brought him; dinner at a fancy restaurant, visiting a tea shop with her and her mother, even playing with her son, George. It seemed like he was with _her_ again, living life without this black pit in his soul, without feeling like a part of him was missing, something essential like an arm, a leg, his heart.

Jack picked out a simple outfit of grey pants and a light-blue button up shirt. As long as it was designer, Stephanie wouldn't matter. He dressed quickly, brushing his hair swiftly with his fingers and straightening himself up. He walked back into the room and neatened the quilts and pillows on his bed. Even though he was now rich and could employ a house full of servants, who would answer to his every whim, he still didn't feel right letting other people mill around him. No, he'd done it himself for all these years, and it wouldn't hurt to continue now. He sidled over to the rather extensive mahogany wardrobe, and plunged his hand deep within its contents. Discarding the various ties that littered the floor, his hand wrapped around what he was seeking desperately; a half-empty bottle of whisky. Expensive whisky, mind you. These days, Jack's morning drink was all he bothered spending lots of money on. Cheap food and cheap clothes, he could handle. But, his alcohol needed to be top notch. The higher the price, the more effective it was chasing away the demons of the night's dream. The cheaper stuff never worked as well; Jack knew that from experience. He went into his adjoining bathroom and reached up into the medicine cabinet. Fumbling behind the many bottles of aspirin, he found the glass that he reserved especially for his morning tipple. He desperately filled up a glass tumbler to the top and swallowed it down in one, grimacing as the alcohol burning the back of his throat. The stuff was never nice warm. In fact, it wasn't that nice at all, but if it brought that oblivion, he was more than willing. He'd happily drink the whole bottle if he wasn't meeting Stephanie in the afternoon. Many a time, he'd sleep away the day. Not the natural sleep, of course, but that blissful, dreamless sleep that only came about with a little prompting.

"One more glass won't hurt," Jack said to himself, pouring another generous measure, after feeling the familiar calm seep into his bloodstream. This time, he sipped slowly from the glass, and walked over to the window and onto the veranda. He often did this in a morning, breathing deeply. He was coping. Jack knew she'd be proud, wherever she was. Maybe not at the "whisky-a-day" part, but he was moving on. Perhaps one day he could get through the morning sober, perhaps he could look at Stephanie with genuine love and emotion in his eyes, perhaps one day he'd have children of his own, see their smiling faces instead of hers when he drifted off to sleep at night. Perhaps... with a deeper swig, his mind drifted back to familiar memories, his life before he'd made his fortune...

_**Jack**_ sat slumped on the grass of the park that had been in his home for the last couple of nights. It was actually surprising that a bed of leaves, grass and twigs could be so comfortable. When the night was clear, it was actually quite peaceful. The stars provided enough light, and Jack would sketch mindlessly in the darkness. Nothing specific, just shapes, what he was thinking. Gradually, they took forms: a woman, a tree, a dog, the bench across from the one he lay on. Now, these works lay spread out in front of him. Every so often, a woman would buy one for a few cents to hang on her wall, a pretty little cat for the baby's nursery, or someone would feel sorry for the homeless guy dressed in rags, and throw him a dollar in exchange for one of the pretty drawings that, let's face it, wouldn't be becoming valuable any time soon. Jack had to admit, looking at them, they were good. Very good. Much better than anything that he'd churned out before he'd set on the fateful voyage that was the _Titanic_. They were much softer, much deeper than the other pencil sketches he'd made. They were also much darker. Not literally dark, but... they was something much more twisted about them. Nothing major, but in some of the lines that he sketched, the faces, the eyes that he drew on the people, the way they always looked back, looking back with sorrow and anguish. No matter the scene, they were always the same eyes. Oval and thin, the darkest pencil grey possible. Jack didn't even know he was doing it; it was around his fourth full scrapbook that he realised that he must be doing it sub-consciously. Replicating the eyes of the people he saw that night.

One relatively warm July evening, he was dozing in the pleasant sunshine, when a man in a suit walked past.

"Excuse me, sir?" He said, crouching down nervously to be on the same level as the guy with the glazed eyes and blank face. "Is this all your work?"

"If it wasn't, d'you think I'd be selling it?" he answered gruffly, not looking to face him, "And why would I steal it? These pieces of crap ain't worth nothing."

"On the contrary, sir," the man stood up tall again, admiring the works from different angles, "These are magnificent. You don't display these in a gallery?"

"If I did," Jack sighed, exhausted, "would I really be sat on the damp grass with them in front of me. I'm not doing this for the fun of it."

"Wait... so," the man moved himself again, and shook his head in awe, "do you think you could do more of these?"

"Of course," Jack answered, looking around suspiciously, "Look, are you going anywhere with this? Are you planning on buying one, because this is valuable time for me right now. If not, I have a million things better I could be doing right now," he chuckled under his breath. "You got a smoke?"

The gentleman nodded quickly and tossed over a cigarette.

"Erm, it's not going to light itself, pal." Still looking at the sketches, the man rifled through his pockets and tossed over a pack of matches.

"Listen, I could make you a lot of money with these drawings, sir." The man stared up again.

Jack puffed on his cigarette, then dragged deeply, and looked up. "Money. OK, I'm listening."

The man reached over with an extended hand. "I'm Anthony. Anthony Cunningham. My father works in oil, but that never was for me. That was my brother, Lawrence's, field of expertise. I'm more into the art world. I've opened an art gallery, and, with the help of my father's money, I'm living quite comfortably. I'd be really interested in displaying some of your work."

"What's the catch?" Jack pulled deeply again, and stubbed the cigarette out, pocketing it for later. "Why me?"

"Why?" Anthony asked, incredulously, taking a seat on the bench across. "Because you're good. You're different to all the other guys who walk through my door with a "masterpiece", thinking they're the next Monet or Da Vinci. No, you're new, you're talented and you have a lot more to offer than these. And the money we could make..."

"Money?" Jack looked up again, "How much money are we talking about?"

"Well," Anthony took out two more cigarettes, tossing one to Jack and lighting one up himself. He offered the matches again, to which Jack declined. "Enough money so you have a roof over your head, food in your stomach and you'll never have to scrimp on another cigarette again. I say that's ten times better than what you already got."

"Well, I gotta think about this."

"Sure, I understand, but what is there to think about? Tell you what," he stood up, bundling his jacket around him, as the evening air suddenly became more and more chilly. "I'll buy you a drink and we can discuss this further. People like you'll never be able to resist a stiff drink." He laughed at his own joke, and Jack thought about it. Why not? Maybe she was bringing this upon him, one stroke of good luck for his lifetime. Why not take it?

_**And that**_ was the beginning of his partnership with Anthony Cunningham. He did the work, and then Anthony sold it for a ridiculous amount of money. He'd always give Jack a share, maybe not as generous as the one he gave himself, but it _was _his art gallery after all. Pretty soon, Jack was living the life of fast motorcars and house on the coast and fancy restaurants and holidays all year round. Everyone who was someone was trying to get their hands on a _"John Olivier"_, the fancy new pseudonym that Anthony had convinced him to create for business. "Jack Dawson just didn't have the same ring to it", he haughtily exclaimed, pocking a four figure check for a work entitled, "_Rose_". He secured himself a place in society, eventually winning over the heart of Stephanie Elizabeth DeLacy-Cunningham Smythe. She was Anthony's widowed sister, who'd he met at one of his many parties. Having lost her husband and raising her young son alone, she was lonely. And, she reminded Jack of someone, with her flowing red hair and brashness. Not that he'd ever say it aloud.

_**Ending his**_ flashback, Jack pulled himself away from the veranda that he now stood. The glass that he held in his hand was nearly full, and yet he didn't want it anymore. He hurried to the bathroom and emptied it in the sink, rinsing it out to remove any trace of alcohol. He then scrubbed his mouth clean to do the same; Stephanie would be furious if he'd been drinking. He wasn't completely sure about going through the marriage, but he wouldn't dare admit it. She was Anthony's sister, and admitting it would almost guarantee him losing him job. Hiding the glass in the medicine cabinet, as usual, Jack descended the stairs, concentrating heavily on the day to come. Taking life one day at a time, he thought morosely...

**So, whaddya think? You know I like reviews, they get me up in a morning :)**


	4. Moving On?

**_Hello, readers! This is another chapter for this fan fiction, and I hope that you enjoy it. This isn't a "normal" chapter, per se, but it shows that Rose is trying to move on with her life and her daughter, and introducing Stephanie._**

**_DISCLAIMER: Apart from the DVD that is on my bookshelf, I don't own Titanic, apart from all the OC's. I'm actually quite proud of a few of them._**

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**1918**

**ROSE'S POV**

The apartment was small, but warm, bright and bubbling with life and laughter. The walls were warm, summer colours and were littered with various pictures; watercolours of the coast, colourful drawings of flowers and butterflies from the hand of a child, and a cheap replica of a Monet painting. Countless photographs in framed around all the rooms; a redheaded woman singing in a shop with a reasonable audience, two young ladies laughing over a joke and smiling at the camera, and the same fiery woman cuddling a little fair haired girl of about three years old. This was Rose Dawson, of course, and her little girl Lily. She'd been bribed into taking a nice photograph, with promise of a new dress or a dolly. Now that Rose had a bit of money, she could afford to spoil her little girl a bit, treat her like a real princess.

The main room was the source of the laughter. Four women of varying ages were sat around a scrubbed wooden table, draped in a white cotton table cloth. Each woman clutched a cup of tea, and was laughing away at some silly joke like they were schoolgirls again. The eldest of the group, the widow Mrs. Carter, sat down her cup and clutched the table as she restrained herself.

"Aye, Miss Rose, if you tell me another story like that it might send me over the edge." She chuckled to herself as the rest of the table calmed down. Rose, in her fiery beauty, sat next to her mother, who was dressed in a simple grey frock and her face a mask of laughter lines. Lily had been like having Rose back again, though much more of a challenge, which she relished. Then, the final woman was a friend of Rose's, a young woman named Olivia Bennett. The two women had a lot in common; both were strong women who'd lost their husbands in 1912 and were left with fatherless children. Olivia was working with Rose as a waitress at the tea shop, and was trying to raise her sons, James and Steven. Now, they were the best of friends.

Olivia took another drink of tea. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. Robert was asking for you earlier."

"Again?"

"Yes, he seems pretty determined that he's going to at least get a date with you."

Rose brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, before answering. "Did you tell him about me?"

"What about you? I don't know if you've realised it, Rose, but you are a very complex woman," she grinned.

"That I don't date as a general rule. That I haven't had a relationship with another man for six years, since my husband died." Rose glanced sideways at her mother, who was rather pointedly taking an unusual interest in the china.

"Well, yes," Olivia looks down at the same time, "I told him that you weren't looking for a man in your life now. He just said that he'd find a way to persuade you around to his way of thinking. He really seems smitten with you. Not to mention, he absolutely fawns over Lily aswell."

"We'll have to see about that." Rose smirked to herself, blowing gently on her drink to cool it down. Olivia raised her eyebrows and smiled too; she had to believe it. In her 24 years of life, she'd never met a more stubborn person than Rose Dawson. If Robert managed to swing her round to his way of thinking, he needed a medal.

"Who is this Robert, dear?" asked Ruth. "A waiter at Mandleson's?"

"A waiter?" Rose laughed incredulously, "Mother, he _is _Mandleson. Well, Mandleson Jr. I'm sure I told you. Old Joseph left a year ago and moved to London, I think. In stepped his handsome younger self, his son, Robert. Half the girls in the shop make eyes at him behind his back." She tittered at a private joke.

"And he's shown an interest in you?" Ruth asked, herself being interested now. Ruth had gotten used to life without grandeur, but if her daughter could better herself, she would encourage it.

"Ooh, Miss Rose, a lovely young husband could be just what you need," agreed Mrs. Carter.

Rose snapped. "I have everything that I need right now, in this apartment. All I need is playing down there in the corner. She's all I need." Overhearing, little Lily looked up and smiled in her mother's direction, and Rose smiled adoringly back. "Lily is all that I need. I don't need a husband to be happy..." she drifted off. She had to admit, she missed the company of the opposite sex. Well, one man in particular. Of course, Robert would never be able to replace Jack in her life, but he was handsome, wealthy and he seemed a generally nice person. He was always surprising Lily with treats whenever she came and visited the shop.

"Rose, surely it's time for you to love again, or at least try," answered Ruth sympathetically.

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**LILY'S POV**

"James, pass me that teddy bear now," Lily pouted, hand already extended. The meek, fair haired boy obediently passed over the toy. Then, the little girl demonstrated some particular complicated dance move with the teddy bear.

"You see, how can Teddy be a ballet dancer if you won't make him dance? You really have to get him to do it brilliantly if he wants to be the best in the world?" she answered matter-of-factly.

"But, he doesn't want to be a ballet dancer," Steven answered, "He wants to be a pirate."

"Ballet dancers are so much better, anyway." She retaliated. "How are you doing with the music?"

"We don't have any instruments."

"Can you whistle?"

"No. Mommy hasn't taught me how to do it yet."

"Well," she sat across from him, while James practised his moves, "squeeze your lips together and blow. Like this," a tune echoed throughout the room, though only briefly. Steven tried, and failed.

"You'll just have to keep practising," Lily smiled, understanding. She couldn't do it first time either.

"And what do you do?" Steven asked, in between attempts.

"I get to be the director," she grinned, "and I also get to paint the background, and that's always fun. So I don't really count that as a job, because it's fun!"

They all began practising for the "performance" later on. James was throwing himself into the choreography, and Steven was determined to make some sort of tune. Lily started on her background. She wanted a coast scene, with sparkly blue sea and white sandy beaches, like when Mommy took her every year. She loved art; her Mommy had said that she'd inherited her skills from her Daddy. She didn't know what inherited meant, but it was something she shared with her Daddy, and that always made her happy. She loved her Daddy, even though she'd never met him before. _You see, he died before I was born_, she told anyone who'd listen. _My Daddy was so special that God wanted to bring him back to heaven. _That was a phrase that her Mommy had taught her, and it was her favourite line in the whole world.

Then she heard her Mommy talking about Robert. She froze. Lily didn't like Robert. He was always so nice to her, giving her candy and pretty toys and even a pair of gold earrings that sparkled with pink stones. But she was much more observant that a normal five year old; she looked at him when her mother was singing. He looked... well, the only way she could describe him was that he looked hungry. Like he hadn't eaten in a while, and that her Mommy was a Christmas lunch with all the trimmings. Lily hated it; her Mommy didn't need a new man. No, she was happy with her family; Mommy and Nana and Olivia and James and Steven and Miss Hattie.

Mr Robert didn't have a place there. He wasn't a part of her family, and she didn't want him to be.

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**Stephanie's POV**

**_Belle Élégance Bridal Gowns, New York 1918_**

"Mother?" An incredibly beautiful woman stood before a floor length mirror, smoothing out white silk over her ample figure. Normally, she couldn't find nice clothes that went with her head of flaming red hair. But, she knew she looked like royalty. She looked stunning and it was obvious. From the corner of her emerald-green eye, she could see the young shop assistant looking at her with envy, the cashier avoiding staring too rudely at her curvaceous figure. After all, this was luxury and she was exquisite. You needed a heavy chequebook to even think of entering this boutique, never mind purchasing something. Her eye roamed over the dress as she examined herself in the mirror. She knew exactly what was great about it, and exactly what wasn't. She turned again.

"Mother? Hello? What do you think about this one?"

Another woman was perched on a red velvet seat, cooling herself with a handmade silk fan imported all the way from China. Nothing but the best for her family. Her husband was running his own company, specialising in oil. Both her sons had been groomed to take over the company and now her only daughter would be married to a good man. New money, of course, but her Stephanie knew what she wanted. It was all organised now. Why shouldn't Eleanor DeLacy-Cunningham enjoy life?

"This one," she peered over the rims of her spectacles, "It's... nice, Stephanie, dear." To be frank, trawling around fifty different shops over the afternoon had taken its toll. She wanted nothing more than to go home and have a nice tea in front of the fire, the comforting smell of her husband's tobacco lingering in the room and perhaps with her latest read. Being rich had its privileges.

"Nice?" she sneered almost, crossing her arms over her chest but being extremely careful not to crease the fabric. "Nice? Mother, this is my wedding day. I don't want nice, Mother, I want perfection, unique, extraordinary. This is not another of your balls or parties, Mother. This is the single most important day of my life. This is my day, how I want it to be. I'm going to make this wedding day even better than last time."

"Darling, you shouldn't speak about George in such a way, god rest his soul..." Eleanor started, averting her eyes.

"Why not?" Stephanie demanded, almost shouting.

"Stephanie, please don't raise your voice. You're causing a scene."

"At this moment in time, Mother, I don't care. Ever since that damn accident, I've been expected to grieve for a husband that I never loved. A husband that was _chosen_ for me by my parents. Expected to raise a child that I never even wanted, all alone. And now, I have my own chance of happiness and I'm not going to be ashamed." Eleanor felt herself blushing, looking around with apologetic eyes to the other customers and staff. Stephanie, however, was calm and composed. She turned to the mirror, iron eyes studying her reflection once more.

"Yes, Mother, I really do like this one. I think I'll put this one of the 'perhaps' pile..."

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**_Home of Stephanie Elizabeth (DeLacy-Cunningham) Smythe, 1915._**

Stephanie stood before the mirror, inspecting her outfit for tonight's big event. The leaf-green dress that she'd chosen and paid good money for complimented her eyes, and yet also diverted attention from her crown of magnificent hair, shining red in all its glory. This was her first big event after the death of her "beloved" husband, even though he'd died with the Titanic almost four years ago. George Smythe's body hadn't even been recovered, so there wasn't even a proper burial. He was just another one who'd gone down with the famous liner. It wasn't like she was actually in mourning. It wasn't even as if she'd loved him. He was an old friend of her fathers, in his late thirties. Her father, as the family patriarch, decided that was best for his then 18 year old daughter. Money, a stable future, a reputable husband. Not like Stephanie's usual conquests, it had to be said. Handsome and yet not suitable. No, it was a father's job to provide for his children, and he had certainly done that. Well, with his daughter. His sons could provide for themselves. They were men.

A quaint rap on the door interrupted Stephanie's train of thought. She straightened herself up, pulling a small piece of lint from the bodice of her dress. Well, she had been waiting three years to wear it.

"Come in," she curtly responded. A small, stout woman entered, shuffling as she herself straightened her dress. Mrs. Sewell, the housekeeper. She cleared her throat before she spoke; Mrs. Smythe didn't like it when the staff mumbled under their breath and she had to strain her delicate little ears to hear. It was only her impressive restrain that stopped her from yelling in her prim, posh face.

"Miss, your mother and father are waiting in the living room. To escort you to your party tonight..." She replied in her colloquial voice, nodding politely. Stephanie flinched, but Janet Sewell ignored the gesture. She wasn't afraid of this woman. If it wasn't for the decent wage, and her poor, sick mother back at home, she would have left this residence when Mr. Smythe passed on. He took all the joy with him when died, and left the ice queen in front of her as the sole mistress of the house. It wasn't just her view as well; Mrs. Smythe was detested by the whole staff of the house. The only source of happiness in the house was from little George, the son left behind, who was despised by his own mother. He was the only way you could smiles; a house filled with Mrs. Smythe alone would be an ice castle, fit for the queen herself. If she wasn't a Christian woman, Mrs. Sewell thought to herself...

"Thank you, Miss Sewell. Kindly offer them something to drink. I will be with them in a moment." She added several accessories to her attire; a rather impressive necklace that George had given her, mint green gloves that just passed her elbow and emerald earrings. Tonight was her first real social event; Stephanie was determined to impress. Everyone who was everyone would be there, and she wanted to ensure that her impression was lasting. She looked over her reflection one more time, and left the room swiftly.

As she reached the living room, she only saw her father, tall and erect in full attire of top hat and tails. Minus the hat, which he clutched in his thin, bony hand. She bowed her head in acknowledgement, never being the over dramatic type and never being close to her father.

"Good evening, father. Are you quite well?"

"Yes, thank you, dear. Your mother," he gestured with the hat, "is through there. She never misses a chance to kiss her only grandson goodnight." Stephanie smiled briefly, and which resembled a grimace, and went into the nursery, which was just off the main room. Inside, Miss. Helga the governess was settled on a chair, holding a storybook in her grasp and wearing a false smile. Oh, how Mrs. Smythe hated it when the boy was up past his bedtime. She'd be to blame, even though it was the fault of her mother. On the bed sat Eleanor, wearing a gown of lilac and white lace, a ridiculous picture hat perched on her perfectly coiffed hair, identical to her daughters but greying slightly. She looked up at her daughter's face, perfectly blank though undeniably fuming with anger. Eleanor herself knew that her grandson was rejected by his own mother, but that didn't mean that _she_ couldn't love him.

"Oh, thank heavens, Stephanie. We've been waiting for five minutes, so I thought I'd say goodnight to little George. You never do bring him to see me any more; it's feels like an age since you visited me at all."

"Mother," Stephanie fumed between clenched teeth, "you are disrupting his schedule, and there is nothing more important than routine in childhood." She herself looked down at the boy. He wasn't an ugly boy; even Stephanie had to admit that. But, it was his father's eyes that looked back at her everyday. Even though her husband George had been gone for nearly four years, he still gawked at her everyday through his son. His face wasn't plump but still held the remnants of chubbiness from childhood, and his cheeks were flushed with excitement. But, his crown of red hair irritated the most. Even though she never really wanted children, she at least wanted them to be inconspicuous. The saying was seen and not heard, but she wasn't really sure that she wanted them to be seen either. His head stuck out like a sore thumb, something she herself had experienced growing up. No, there wasn't anything about the boy himself that she hated; it was the fact that he was a reminder of the life she was forced to share with George Smythe. She could have escaped from her miserable years with a much older husband, but she wasn't lucky enough for the pleasure. Although she would never admit such a cruel thing, but when she heard about the Titanic, she almost prayed that her husband hadn't survived. She'd get all of his money; well, the child would. And she'd accept that; she had her own money. But she'd be free to live life again. She had the boy, but what were nannies for? He'd be sent of to boarding school as soon as he was old enough, and all he'd be would be occasional visits home at Christmas and a rather hefty bill every semester. And she could forget that life, maybe marry again and have fun this time around. Oh, that would be bliss, she thought, still looking down at her son but with her thoughts elsewhere.

"Oh, Stephanie, stop being so prim." Eleanor stood and placed a kiss on George's forehead, and his eyes lit up with happiness. "Goodnight, darling. Sleep tight."

"Goodnight, Grandmother. Have a nice time," he smiled; glad to be shown a small token of affection.

"Oh, I'm sure we will, darling." She walked over to the door. Stephanie promptly walked out, just as Miss. Helga stood to deliver her bedtime story for the night.

"Stephanie," Eleanor asked curiously, "Aren't you going to say goodnight to George?"

"What?"

"Your son. Aren't you going to wish your own child goodnight?"

"Of course, Mother," she stuttered, with shock. "Goodnight, George."

"Goodnight, Mother," he whispered quietly. _This is unusual,_ he thought to himself. _She never even speaks to me, unless she's telling me off. I must be polite to her as well. _He smiled as widely as he could. "Have a nice time at the ball."

"Thank you," Stephanie responded, icily. "Now, can we go? We really don't want to be late; we don't want to make a bad impression." Eleanor looked again, and she was already out of the door. She sighed to herself, smiled once more at her grandson, and left the room. Her daughter simply wasn't a maternal person, she thought. It had taken her a while to get used to her baby after his birth. Yes, she;s expected that Stephanie would have accepting her role as a Mother now, maybe she was a late developper. Eleanor refused to believe that her daughter hated her own child.

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**_So, what do you think of this chapter? I enjoyed writing it, so I hope that you like reading it. Please review, because I want to know what you all think _****_J_****_ Thanks for reading! _****_C_**

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	5. Choices

**_Hiya people! I think my mother must have put something in my food, because this is the second chapter in the same night! I have a decent plotline for the story, but I appreciate with your ideas if you have any! _**

**_Special mention: greengirl16. Both your reviews lit up my day!_**

**Do I have to write one of these every chapter? Blah blah blah... I don't own Titanic. Though I'm sure you all guessed by now!**

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**1919**

"Nana, why is the sky blue?"

Ruth looked over at her now six year old granddaughter, her inquisitive blue eyes staring hard in curiosity and she thought hard about her own question.

"Because the sky has always been blue, dear, since before I was born."

"Really? Since baby Jesus was born?" Ruth nodded, not looking up after returning to her novel. Lily gasped. "Wow. So baby Jesus was born under the same sky as this one."

A few more minutes of silence past. Ruth had just reached the bottom her her page, when Lily exclaimed "Is that why water's blue? Because water comes from the sky when it rains and some of the dye from the sky of something must rub off. I'll have to tell James and Steven about it." She sat down, nodding to herself and straightening the hair on her new doll, Charlotte, and placing her in the middle of her lap.

"Nana, why are we here? Mommy's not even working today."

"Because, dear, I agreed to meet an old friend of mine for tea this afternoon. Robert has taken your mother out for lunch and so I thought you could come with me, instead of staying with Olivia and the boys all afternoon." Lily pulled a face, but smiled quickly when her grandmother looked over. She still didn't like Robert, but he made her Mommy pretty happy, so she learned to accept him. Not like him, though.

"What's your friend's name?"

"Molly Brown. Thought I expect you to be on your best behaviour tonight. Call her Mrs. Brown, okay, and try not to be too talkative."

"I'll try, Nana, but sometimes I just can't help it. The words just jump out of my mouth before I get to control them. You might have to send me to a doctor." With one look at Lily's intense, serious face, Ruth couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm serious. Mommy's says I'm too forward, but I don't know what that means. I mean, how can I be forwards or backwards? I'm in the present. Sometimes, I wonder if Mommy is crazy."

"Okay. We'll take you to a doctor after we finish talking to Molly." Lily sighed with relief and sat back into her seat, twirling Charlotte around as if she was flying and using a fork for a broomstick. Ruth glanced at her watch; typical Molly to be late by almost fifteen minutes.

"Nana," Lily piped up, and Ruth looked up patiently, "Where did you meet Molly... I mean, Mrs. Brown?"

"Well, there was once a time when your mother and I were rich. And when we went onto the Titanic, she liked to be friends with the other ladies and I. And she helped me when the ship went down. She was a friend that I could talk to."

"Wow," Lily gaped, "You and Mommy were rich."

"Yes, once upon a time," Ruth sighed, "We were very rich."

"Rich like Robert?"

"Richer than Robert. Your mother used to wear fancy dresses all of the time and we ate posh food and we liked to buy expensive jewellery. But we weren't very nice people." Lily looked doubtful.

"Well, I think I prefer you and Mommy know, when you're nice," nodded Lily, "I mean, sometimes Mommy shouts at me when I'm naughty and doesn't take me out for ice cream, but overall I think she's a good lady."

"Good, because I think she is a good lady too," responded Ruth, and checked her watch. Then she turned to her book, and was greeted by a loud, booming voice.

"Ruth!" that voice was unmistakable, and Ruth turned to face the large, brash woman that stood in front of her. Both women stood and embraced, with Molly kissing Ruth on both cheeks.

"How long has it been? Two years now?" Molly sat down lightly on the blush cushions, beaming towards her old friend. She turned to face the waiter who was hovering.

"Are you ready to order, Miss?"

"I'll have a cup of tea, strong with lots of sugar. Bring the milk separate."

Ruth turned, and ordered the same as before, including a glass of milk for Lily.

"So, what's new with you, Ruth?" Molly smiled, her face beaming, "I'm glad to see that you're doing well for yourself."

"As well as I possibly can do in this situation. It's not easy, but we get by as best as we can."

The waiter arrived and brought the orders over. Ruth collected her own tea and Molly poured herself a strong cup complete with four sugars.

"That's better. So, you've found someone to stay with? That's fantastic; I was worried that you'd be here on your own."

"Yes," murmured Ruth, "I'm currently staying with Rose here."

"With whom, dear?" asked Molly, pouring another heaped spoonful of sugar into her tea. "A niece?"

"No, Rose," Ruth answered, "my daughter. I believe you've met before."

"Rose?" Molly stuttered, "Rose Rose?"

"I only have one daughter who is currently alive," replied Ruth. "I discovered she was living here just over a year ago. She welcomed me with open arms and I've been living with her ever since."

"Rose is still alive?" Molly whispered to herself.

"Very alive. And I also discovered that I'm a grandmother." Molly looked curiously over at the little girl who was plaiting the hair on her doll. "This is my granddaughter, Lily. She's recently turned six."

"Six?" Molly looked her over, and then realisation hit. "Wait, so..."

"Yes, we know the manner of her conception and who her parents are."

"Honest to God?" Molly's mouth was slightly agape, as though she was too shocked to remember her manners.

"Honest to God and all his angels in the sky."

"Wait, does Jack know about this?"

Ruth took a deep drink from her cup, half hoping that at that moment in time it was something stronger.

"Why would Jack know about this? Unless it's possible for the dead to hear us, I think it's highly unlikely that he'd be able to comprehend, given where he is."

"What are you walking about, Ruth?" Lily looked up that moment.

"My Daddy's dead, Molly... I mean, Mrs. Brown," she answered, in her usual matter-of-fact tone. "My Daddy died before I was born, and now lives in Heaven with baby Jesus and the angels."

Molly looked confused. She turned to Lily.

"Lily, darling, would you mind going and asking that wretched waiter for some more sugar for me, hon?"

"Sure, thing," she smiled, and jumped from her seat, clutching Charlotte in her grasp. Then, Molly dramatically wiped her brow with her embroiled handkerchief, and turned to face Ruth.

"Ruth, sweetheart, I have something to tell you that you are obviously unaware of. I'd put the cup down if I were you."

Ruth did so, and leaned forward curiously.

"Go on."

Molly took a deep breath. "Jack Dawson is alive today as you and I are right now."

The room had never been more silent than right now. Ruth placed her shaking hands on the arm rests and leaned backwards in her chair.

"Molly, I never thought you the type to play a cruel joke on an elderly woman. That's my granddaughter's father that you're talking about."

"Ruth, hand on heart, he is definitely alive." Molly reached over and grasped her hand. Ruth didn't pull away. "Everyone seems to be under the impression that Rose is dead. Nobody could find her name on the register when we were rescued that... that night, and well, we put two and two together, darling. We must have come up with five."

"How sure are you, Molly, that Jack Dawson is alive. I mean, is it a rumour? Is their any possible chance that this may be a hoax? There is no way that I'm going to excite my daughter and granddaughter for them to be bitterly disappointed."

"Ruth, I spoke to him on the phone a month ago. He's been depressed, severely, and it's seems like I'm the only one who'll listen to him. And, I received this," she pulled a cream envelope from her bag, and handed it over. "I was actually planning on inviting you along, as I was on my way up to New York after our little gathering.  
Ruth opened the envelope, to reveal a gold-and-red themed invite. A _wedding _invite.

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**_You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of_**

**_Stephanie Elizabeth DeLacy-Cunningham_**

**_and_**

**_John William "Jack" Dawson_**

**_

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The address and other details were listed below.

"He's getting married. He can't be getting married."

"Yeah, he is. Remember Lawrence Cunningham?"

"Yes, the greedy old man with the prim and proper wife, who sold his only daughter to a man old enough to be her father. A work collegue of his, if I remember rightly. My, that was back when I used to enjoy gossip." She chuckled weakly.

"Well, that's her. That is Jack's soon-to-be wife. Her old husband, George, well, he died on the Titanic. She saw Jack one night, and decided that he was the new 'in' thing. She had to have him... whatever Stephanie wants, she gets. That's her reputation around these parts."

"But, wait," Ruth paused, "How am I going to tell Rose?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"Well, she seems genuinely happy for the first time in months. Robert's give her company and a shoulder to cry on, and she seems to have accepted it. I've offered, Olivia, even old Mrs. Carter, and she held it all in, being strong for Lily. And now, she's found a man who she can love again. Now this. Jack's about to get married. They both have different futures, so it would seem. But, they have a child together. A child that has the right to meet her father if she wants to. And I know Lily, and she will want to meet him," Ruth seemed to be chatting away to herself now, unaware that Molly was listening intently. "I should really do this for Lily. Yes, Lily's sake."

"I'm real sorry to burden you with this, Ruth. I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew that he was still alive. Well, he's become quite successful in the financial world. He's an artist, who makes decent money for his work. One of his most recent works went for $500." Ruth's gasped.

"$500? Are we still talking about the same Jack Dawson?" she joked, though still in a state of astonishment.

"Well, he goes by the work name John Olivier, even though he's not got a French bone in his body. All about the image, according to Anthony. Correct image and success will follow. He's been through some really troubled times, Ruth. When I first looked him up, I offered him a place to stay. When he stared back at me with that blank expression, I wondered if a piece of him, his heart maybe, had died with Rose that fateful night. Well," she smiled, "Obviously not, because Rose is still alive. It honestly is a miracle. Hopefully, he'll regain that bit of his soul."

"Molly. Honestly, as a friend to me. Do you think that he will want to meet Rose again? I don't want to ruin both their lives with this news. Like a ticking bombshell."

Molly adjusted in her seat. The tea in front of them both had gone stale and cold, and Lily was nowhere to be seen. Not that Ruth worried; the staffs at _Mandleson's _treated that little girl like family.

"Ruth, do you want to go out for a bite to eat? You, me and Lily. We can discuss this further."

"I'm sorry, Molly," a hint of old Ruth reappeared in her stony tone. She softened, after hearing herself, "I'm really sorry. Rose will be back soon, and I promised to get Lily home in time. The four of us, that being Robert, Rose, Lily and I are dining out. But please, answer me that one question. Would he want to see her?"

Molly hesitated. Ruth needed to know. "Well, yes. I think that Rose could restore him back to his previous senses. I think that he'd return again, revitalised. Especially with Lily, discovering that he has a little girl like her. But, he works for Anthony Cunningham. Stephanie's brother. If Jack abandons Stephanie before the wedding, the fate is almost certain. He'd have no money, no job and Anthony would ruin his name everywhere. He'll have talent, but talent doesn't put meals on the table and buy Lily new shoes for the winter, does it?"

Ruth had to agree.

"Well, I have to go now, Ruth. My train leaves in an hour, seeing as we're skipping lunch. Kiss that darling granddaughter of yours goodbye for me, and give Rose my best wishes. Do what you think is best, Ruth. Follow your heart and do what you think is right." With a peck on both cheeks, Ruth waved goodbye to Molly. Just as she was about to exit, Molly turns.

"And, Ruth, the weddings set for February 20th, at the Cunningham Manor House. If you choose Rose's happiness, she'll need to know that before she has to fight for a married man. If you need it, I'm staying at this address for the wedding."She scribbled down a line on a piece of paper, folded it and handled it over to Ruth. A curt nod of the head, and she was gone.

And there, Ruth sat, statuesque, not blinking. Could see prepare to see her daughter facing poverty, but with love in her life. Lily came rushing in.

"Hiya, Nana. Sorry I'm late. Mrs. Kennedy showed me a kitten that she and Richard rescued from the bins outside. He was this," she moved her finger a few inches apart, "tiny. I wish we could have a pet. You think Mommy'll let me. I'll clean it and feed it and..." She noticed that Ruth wasn't listening. Not unusual, but Nana always at least pretended to listen.

"What's wrong? Did Mrs. Brown say something nasty to you? Do you have to go away and live with her?" The little girl wrapped her arms around her grandmother's neck and hung on. "Because she'll have to fight me. Mommy and I want you."

Ruth brought herself back to reality. "No, of course not, dear. Mrs. Brown just told me some very interesting information. We're going to go home now. Robert wants to take us out for dinner." Lily tried to make an enthusiastic face, but failed.

Ruth had decided. What was her choice?

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**_Wow. I think that's a cliff-hanger. Will Ruth continue to be a new woman and do what's best for her daughter's happiness, or her daughter's financial situation? I know, and soon will you! Please review! You make me feel all nice and warm when you do! And I promise to carry on with it! Reviewers get a special mention, which shows I love you! _**

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	6. Truth Revealed?

Will Ruth tell her daughter that her one true love is alive?

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**Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews. Yet again, I'm bored and watching "The Phantom of the Opera" for the sixth time tonight, so I thought, why not write a new chapter? Those good people who actually like what I write deserve it!**

**Thanks (especially) to kimmi0490, merderfan93, greengirl16, sassy-is-classy, SakuraMoonAngel, -I,Dream,Of,Hardyz-**** and Electric-Blue-Monkey ****for reviewing the last chapter. If you guys could see how happy you make me, you'd be laughing at your computer screens!**

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Rose looked over the table at her mother, who was nervously twisting a handkerchief around her finger and completely ignoring Lily's quick fire questions. It was a general rule to at least try to look interested when she began on one of her little speeches. She turned her head, to find Robert staring quite intently at her blank expression.

"I'm sorry, you were miles away. I was just asking if you planned on staying at the shop for much longer. I've always thought you were capable of much bigger things." He smiled again, and Rose reflected the expression without much enthusiasm.

"Well, I don't know." She chanced a look over the table again to see Ruth staring, a stricken look on her face. Lily had obviously gotten bored of the one way conversation, and was rearranging the cutlery around her empty plate. Rose turned to face Robert again, "I mean, perhaps when Lily's a bit older. She needs to have some sort of routine in her life." He nodded sympathetically, but Rose saw through his charade; she knew exactly what he wanted. She stood up swiftly, followed comically by Ruth and then Lily.

"Thanks for the dinner, tonight, Robert. But, I do think it's time we got home. Lily has school in the morning." Not to mention, Ruth had something of immense importance to tell; her mother was never the best at keeping secrets.

"Oh, of course," a fleeting look of disappointment flashed across his handsome face, but only for a brief second. "The least I can do is pay for a cab for you."

"No," Rose refused, "We're perfectly fine to walk. It's still light outside, and it'll only take two minutes and Lily'll need something to tire her out after the excitement of today." At that precise moment of time, Rose hoped that her daughter wasn't pulling some sort of sarcastic expression to reveal the obvious lie.

"If that's what you'd prefer." The same disappointed look crossed his face, "OK, goodnight it is."

"Thank you for the delightful evening, Mr. Mandleson," mumbled Ruth, slightly under her breath." Rose squeezed Lily's hand, and she piped up, "Yes, thank you, Mr. Robert. I had an awfully fun time tonight." Rose had a hard time not laughing at that line; the girl was good.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." She kissed him on the cheek, as did Rose, and the family left the restaurant swiftly. During the walk up the street, the three stayed silent. Lily occasionally hummed a tune under her breath, but that was the only noise from the trio. Within five minutes, they entered the bright apartment.

"Mommy, can I go play with my dollies?" Rose nodded quickly, and Lily sped off happily into her room.

"OK, what have you got to tell me?" Rose blurted out, and Ruth looked shocked, but guilty.

"What? What makes you think I have anything to tell you, Rose?"

She laughed. "Because you've never been that great of a liar, Mother. I could see throughout that whole lunch scene that you had something that you were itching to tell me. Go on."

Ruth stiffened. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Rose sat down in a seat, and Ruth followed. "Who exactly did you meet with tonight? Lily wouldn't tell me her name."

"Nobody important, darling. Just an old friend, more of an acquaintance, actually." The sound of false laughter filled the room; Ruth wished that she could have been more convincing.

"You don't have any old friends that you keep in contact with," Rose said suspiciously.

"Well, it was Molly Brown, dear. You remember Molly, don't you?"

"Of course I remember Molly, Mother," Rose gasped, "Why didn't you tell me it was her? I'd have loved to have seen her again. Why, we haven't seen each other since-..." Rose stopped, "Well, since... I had no idea you had kept in contact," she finished, rather lamely.

"Well, we do. She was just filling me in on the news. You know."

"What did she tell you, Mother?" Rose repeated, "There is something that you don't want to tell me. Wait... are you afraid? You haven't sold me off to a rich family, have you?"

Rose stood. "Cup of tea?" Rose stood abruptly, and reached for her mothers hands.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise I'll be fine." Rose looked into Ruth's eyes, and knew she had won. "Please. I promise."

Ruth sighed in defeat. "OK. But you'd better sit down for this." Rose sat, and Ruth followed swiftly.

"Now, the news that I'm going to tell you. I want you to remember that I'm always here for you. I'll always be here for you and Lily, no matter what happens..."

"Mother," Rose looked worried, "You're scaring me."

"OK. Well, tonight, when I met Molly, she told me some extraordinary news. Something that I've decided would be better if you knew," Ruth hesitated, "Rose dear, Jack's alive."

A silence fell thick in the room. Rose froze for a minute, and Ruth cringed, waiting for her daughter's reaction. Finally, she spoke.

"Which Jack are we talking about here?" she whispered, "Please clarify. I mean, Jack's a common name; I'm sure there must be at least ten living Jack's in this area alone." She chuckled at her own joke, with the same stunned expression on her face.

"I think you know exactly which Jack we're talking about, darling." Without warning, Rose stood up and knocked the chair backwards onto the floor.

"I don't know who put you up to this, but this is not my idea of a funny joke," she screamed, "This is a dead man that we are talking about here, and you're making jokes about his death? What's wrong with you?!?" At Rose's outburst, Lily crept timidly into the room, clutching one of her many toys.

"Mommy, why are you angry? Are you mad at me?" Tears filled her sea blue eyes, and Rose forgot about her rage and swept the little girl up into her arms.

"Of course not, sweetheart," she whispered into her daughter's soft blonde hair, and laughed weakly, "Your Nana told me something extraordinary, that's all." Lily buried her face into Rose's neck, and Rose felt herself calming down immediately. After a pause of two minutes, and deep breaths, she resumed.

"Where, erm, where exactly did you hear about this lurid tale?" Rose spoke cagily, with Lily still quivering in her arms.

"Molly Brown told me. She's seen him, Rose." Rose looked at her mother, helplessly, for more information. "The thing is, Rose, everyone thought the same as me. Everyone thinks that you're dead." Rose nodded, only half listening. Jack was alive. Though was he? At the beginning, she'd always had a nagging feeling that he was alive out there. But she'd put the thought down to having Lily in her arms, rocking her, the piece that anchored Jack to the living world.

"How is he, assuming this is not some lie, how is he doing? Is he well?" Rose pleaded for more information.

"Well, Molly said that he's... doing fine." She finished. Rose nodded impatiently, and stood up.

"OK, I'm off." Ruth looked up quickly, to see Rose place Lily on the floor and into her room.

"Where are you going, Mommy? Can I come?" Lily perked up, and Rose shook her head, anxiously.

"No. Mommy's going to go fetch see a friend, and then maybe she'll go see another friend. But, you're going to be a good girl, and stay here with Nana whilst I'm gone."

"The hell she is," cursed Ruth. Rose looked up; what was the world coming to, with her mother cursing in such an offhand way. "I'm coming with you. I don't want you doing anything stupid whilst I'm not there." Rose looked, businesslike manner resumed, and nodded briskly.

"Well, if that's what you wish. I don't really have the power to stop you. You best go pack some things," she said, whilst throwing various clothes into a large bag.

"Can I go too now, Mommy?" Lily begged. Rose looked down, and shook her head.

"You're going to go stay with Auntie Olivia for a while." Lily's face crinkled up into a sob. "But, I'll only be gone for a few days. I promise. Here," Rose took off her necklace, a golden locket, with a picture of herself as a child in one window, and a baby photo of Lily in the other. "You know how much I love this, right?" Lily nodded, obediently. Rose unclasped the chain, beckoned for Lily to turn around, and fastened it on her small neck. It fitted rather well.

"Well, I'm going to leave it with you, so that you know that I'll be back soon. Is that OK?" Lily nodded again, and Rose pulled her into a hug. "Whenever you feel lonely, just remember that I'm in there, right next to you." Lily broke away, and smiled widely, while clutching at the pictures tightly.

"OK, you best go and pack a bag or something. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but if it's longer than a week, I'll fetch you to come with me. Is that good?"

"That's good, Mommy. I'm gonna miss you though." Lily darted off into her room, and Ruth re-entered, carrying a leather bag on her arm.

"What exactly are we planning to do?"

"Well," answered Rose, still not looking up, "I want to see Molly first. If I hear it from her, then maybe I'll believe it a bit more. And if she manages to convince me that this isn't an extremely cruel, wild joke, then I'm going to go see him."

"And then what? You're going to abandon both your lives and run of into the sunset? Introduce him to the daughter that he never knew he had, the five year old girl who thinks that her father died long ago?"

Rose thought for a minute. "Well, no, not exactly like that. If he'll come back, then that will be the happiest day of my life. Well, except when Lily born. But pretty close." Ruth nodded in an exasperated way. She left the room, leaving Rose frantically packing. If this was true... well, she didn't like to think that way, in case she was disappointed. The exact reason why she'd decided not to take Lily with her. "And if he decides he wants nothing to do with either Lily or I, then, I suppose I'll have to forget it ever happened." Ruth could sense the hint of despair towards the end of the sentence.

Ten minutes later, the trio left the apartment, locking the door. They walked across the hall, silence lingering in the atmosphere. Even Lily didn't have anything to say. She could see her Mommy was excited; she was clutching her hand so tightly. But she was also extremely worried; it was all over her face.

Rose knocked on the door, and Steven appeared, flustered but smiling widely.

"Oh, hi, Auntie Rose. Do you want to come in?"

"No, sweetheart. Could you fetch your mother for me, please?"

"Sure. Mommy! Auntie Rose is at the door. Could you come, please?"

The boy reappeared, pulling his mother by the arm.

"Oh, hi, Rose. It seems he's telling the truth for once. What's the matter? Nothing's happened, has it?"

"No, no, of course not. I just wanted to ask a big favour. Could you please watch Lily for me for a few days? I know its short notice, but I really need to be somewhere."

"What?" Olivia gasped, "I mean, of course I will. Is there anything wrong?"

"No," Rose insisted, "It's just... really short notice. I can pay you. I don't have much money," she reached into her bag and pulled out coins and a few notes, "But please, take this. We'll only be gone for a few days, three at the most."

"That's fine. She's no bother. It'll be someone for James and Steven to play with when they grow bored. I promise, she'll be fine, Rose."

"I know." She crouched down to Lily's level, and kissed her forehead. "You sure you're going to be OK?" Lily nodded.

"I think I'll be fine." She nodded, and Rose smiled. Lily wrapped her arms around her mother's neck, and hugged tightly. "Just make sure you come back soon, OK. Remember that I love you lots."

"Remember that I love you more." This had been the first time that Rose had left Lily for more than a night, and she was taking it surprisingly well. Ruth also kissed her granddaughter farewell, and the peculiar sensations of joy and sadness at the same time took over her.

"Thanks again, Olivia." With that, Rose and Ruth turned and left, leaving Lily looking on sadly.

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**So, what did you think of the new chapter? This one was a bit difficult to write, because I've been suffering from writer's block, which is never fun! I think I've sort of got rid of it (though) for the moment. So, review and tell me what you think! I hope to have the next one up on Sat/Sun!**


	7. Abandoned

**This chapter is dedicated to all the people who reviewed and/or asked after this story. I've had a very hectic and (at times) difficult year, and I'm glad to have gotten back to a familiar rhythm, in which I can relax and write. I hope to have this finished by Christmas; I have many other projects that are cramming up my brain cells and I feel that I owe some readers a finished story.**

**I've grown to appreciate many things while writing this story; the music of Michael Bublé, Supernatural, Phantom of the Opera, Avatar and, of course, the movie Titanic. Without these beloved obsessions of mine, this chapter wouldn't have been created. All of these are great remedies to writer's block when suffering from insomnia in those long summer nights.**

**Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope it leaves you wanting more. It's easily been the most difficult to write (so far) after having had such a long break with so much other stuff to focus on. Thank you all for sharing an interest in my work, and I hope it lives up to your expectations. If you like it or don't, please leave me a review. They really do make my day. –Love BB xxx**

_**Disclaimer: I, in no way, shape or form, own Titanic. I own a few characters in this fanfiction, but that's about it!**_

**Chapter Seven**

Lily stared after her mother, speeding further away from her in a frenzy of red curls, and felt the hole in her stomach start to expand. Her mommy _never _went anywhere without her, and neither did Grandma. Where was she going that was so important? Lily felt a hand gently guide her further into the apartment as the door slowly closed in front of her. The creaky hinges of the closing door was the only sound to break the heavy silence that lingered in the room. She clutched her doll to her chest and felt Auntie Olivia tenderly led her to the old sofa that squeaked as she sat down. She watched Auntie Olivia bustle into the kitchen and resume cooking supper for the family, determined to carry on as normal. James and Steven hovered in the hallway, peering in on the scene. James coughed and gathered up the courage to break the tense atmosphere.

"Lily? Steven and me are playing cops and robbers? Do you wanna come play?" he asked nervously. Lily remained sitting, perched on the edge of the sofa, staring at an old painting of a carnival that hung above the mantelpiece. She didn't respond, so James approached his friend anxiously.

"Lily, are you OK? Is something wrong with your Mom? Grandma?"

"Jimmy, sweetheart, Lily's fine. Auntie Rose is fine, everyone is fine," Olivia called from the nearby kitchen, "Her Mom just had to go away for a while, so Lily'll be staying here. Just give her a few moments to get settled in, OK?" James nodded, and beckoned for his younger brother to follow him through to their room. "Lily, you can come and play with us whenever you're ready." The sound of the boys' footsteps echoed throughout the otherwise silent room.

Olivia looked on at Lily's dejected form and sighed wearily. She hadn't left her mother's side for more than five minutes since she'd been born, and she was taking the sudden separation pretty badly. She shuffled into the sitting room, gently sat down next to Lily and placed a tender arm around her shoulders. The little girl shrugged the arm of as her face scrunched up into a scowl, obviously preventing a flow of tears.

"Lily, sweetheart, are you sure you're OK?" Lily could feel the tears fighting to break free, so she concentrated hard on the picture before her. It was your typical carnival scene, a huge red and white tent, the elephant with the tear dropped shaped eyes, the clown with the funny shoes and happy expression. And the lady, the lady with the soft pale face and wavy red hair. The woman who always reminded Lily of her mother. It was one of the reasons why it was her most favourite picture in the entire world. It reminded her of the same mother who she loved, cherished even, and the mother who'd abandoned her, who'd left her alone, just like her Daddy did all those years ago. She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket and hugged her doll a little closer to her chest. She tried her best to compose herself before replying in a tiny, broken voice.

"Yes, Auntie Olivia, I'm OK. Just a little sad, that's all."

"Awww, sweetie, I'm so sorry that your Mommy had to leave like she did," Olivia exclaimed, pulling Lily close to her chest, "But she must have had her reasons. And she'll be back before you know it. I wouldn't be surprised if she was waiting for you when you wake up tomorrow morning." She stroked the back of Lily's strawberry blonde head. "You know, Jimmy and Stevie really need some help with that game of theirs. They'd really appreciate it if you'd go and tell them what to do. They've said nobody plays cops and robbers like you do."

Lily pulled away from the embrace, and discreetly rubbed at her eyes again. "I will, Auntie Olivia, but if it's OK, I just want to sit here by myself for a while. I don't feel like playing right now."

"Of course, honey, whenever you're ready." Olivia stood up and started towards the kitchen again. "Do you want anything to drink? We've got water, and milk, and the boys might even have left you some orange juice. I know how much you love oranges."

"No, thank you, I'm OK, really. I just want to sit here in the quiet for a while."

"OK, then. I'll be through here in the kitchen if you need me." Olivia turned towards the door satisfied, and then turned around slowly, stopping abruptly.

"Lily, you know that your Mommy loves you more than anything in the world. She'll be back soon to get you, your Grandma too. She's coming back." The little girl nodded half-heartedly, and Olivia exhaled. No denying she was her mother's daughter, she thought, they were as stubborn as each other.

Lily felt extremely small in the huge sitting room by herself. The only sound in the room was the dull, droning tick of a grandfather clock that stood in a distant corner. Nothing to distract her from her thoughts. Lily thought back on her mother with an almost religious fervour. She missed how her Mommy used to hum quietly to herself as she practised for her latest song. The smell of her perfume that lingered in the air, or when they'd cuddle up in bed during a thunderstorm. Lily would bury her head in her mother's shoulder every time another peal of thunder or lightning erupted and tore through the night sky. Or when she'd sit on her Mommy's knee, as Rose would recall stories from her childhood, and when she was a young lady, before Lily was born. When she and Grandma were rich and lived in a huge house in the countryside, when she had fancy clothes and jewels that Lily could only dream of. And when her Mommy had met her Dad, which was her favourite story. Nobody could ever tell a story better than when her Mommy told that story. It was always the one story that would be guaranteed to stop Lily bouncing off the walls and settle down for bedtime after a long, exciting day. And now, Mommy had gone, and she was never coming back. Auntie Olivia had tried to make her feel better, but Lily knew those promises were empty, nothing more than a tool to comfort her. Lily knew the truth.

Suddenly, Lily felt a surge of anger bubbling in her stomach, replacing the gaping hole. Why did everyone have to lie to her, didn't they think she could cope with the truth? She wasn't a little baby; she was a big girl, nearly six years old. She could choose her own clothes and brush her own hair now. She didn't need anyone to look after her. She'd never had a Daddy, and now she didn't have a Mommy either. She didn't need Auntie Olivia or James or Steven to look after her now. She didn't need _anybody_. Lily silently stood up, holding her doll loosely by the hand now. She wasn't hungry, so she didn't need food. And there was a water fountain in the park for if she got thirsty. It was warm, and she had a coat, so she wouldn't freeze. She was going to show everyone how much of a big girl she was. She could live by herself if her Mommy and Grandma didn't want her around anymore.

Lily buttoned her coat up to the chin and quietly crept over to a side table by the window. Auntie Olivia always kept some money in the middle drawer, for emergencies. Well, Lily thought, this is definitely an emergency. If Auntie Olivia knew the truth, she'd understand why Lily needed to do this. She lifted the lid of the sparkly jewelled trinket box where Olivia always kept her valuables, and grabbed a handful of coins, which she shoved into the top pocket of her skirt. Now that she had some money, she could buy food whenever she was hungry. Lily had everything she could possibly need.

She tucked her doll into the neck of her coat to keep warm, and tiptoed towards the door. If she didn't hurry up, it would be dark soon and then she'd never be able to get away. She turned the rusty old key that Auntie Olivia always kept in the lock for safekeeping, and it unlocked silently. The door opened slowly, and creaked. Lily held her breath; had anybody heard her in her bid to escape? After twenty seconds with her heart pounding furiously against her ribcage, Lily squeezed through the gap, and carefully shut her door with a click. When she was sure that nobody had heard her, she started running, sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her. She knew these hallways like the back of her hand; she'd grown up here, so it didn't take long to reach the foyer. It was empty. As the huge oak doors with the coloured glass and huge gold handles came into view, Lily felt a surge of disappointment. With every twist and turn as she flew down that staircase, Lily had hoped and prayed that her Mommy would be there. This would have been a trick, Lily had beaten the challenge, and Mommy and Grandma would be there. She'd be swept up into a hug, and Rose would call her "her clever little baby" and everything would be fine again.

But, no. Nobody was there to greet her, not even Mr. Jones, who operated the elevators. He must have gone home, thought Lily. She approached the doors and gripped tightly onto the handles. She pulled with all her might. Auntie Olivia or James or Steven would know by now that she'd gone, and they'd be coming to find her. She tugged and tugged and tugged, half expecting one of them to hurry around the corner and drag her back to a life without her family, full of hurt and those false promises. She strained her ears and heard footsteps on the stairs, faint but still audible. She hid under the stairs, where the porter usually kept the brooms that he used. Lily held her breath and crouched down noiselessly, like a dormouse. She prayed that it wasn't anyone looking for her, anyone familiar with the foyer, who knew the only place to hide in this empty foyer was under the stairs...

Luckily, as the footsteps drew nearer and nearer, Lily found that she could distinguish two separate treads, and the tap of a cane. She breathed a silent sigh of relief as tried to calm her thumping heart as Mr Willis rounded the corner, tapping the white cane that he used instead of his eyes, Mommy once told her. His daughter, a pretty brown haired lady with twinkly blue eyes and a very pretty beautiful blue hat, was holding onto his arm. They were too deep in conversation to notice the little girl squatting under the stairs, the little girl who looking after in longing. Longing for a relationship like that, wanting a Daddy to go on walks with like everybody else. However, she squashed the lump that was growing in her throat, and quickly grabbed the door that Marie was holding for her father. She darted under the woman's arm, and started running again down the lamp, leaf strewn street, running to the only place where she felt safe, where she'd be able to begin her new life, alone.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**So, whaddya think? It's been a very hard chapter for me to write, as I needed to get back into the swing of things. Thanks to all the people who have stuck by this story. And all the new readers who'll discover it. I really love writing this fic, and without you guys, it wouldn't be half as much fun! So, tell me what you liked, loved and didn't so much, and please, LEAVE ME A REVIEW!**

**Thank you again! - Love from BB xxx**


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